


the woodsman has moved the bird

by angelsaves



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Background Alex Horne/Rachel Horne, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Unprotected Sex, post-interview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: In which it does turn into a full-on snog, and then some.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Comments: 27
Kudos: 45





	the woodsman has moved the bird

**Author's Note:**

> beta-read by the delightful skazka

They've had their post-interview celebratory pints, as usual, and now they're back at Greg's flat, relaxing into the buzz in comfortable silence. Greg's stretched out on the sofa, head on one arm of it, knees over the other, and Alex is using it as a backrest, leaning his head somewhere in the vicinity of Greg's midsection. He's just contemplating picking up the thread of an earlier conversation when Greg shifts a bit behind him.

"Did you mean it?" Greg asks.

Alex rewinds the evening as best he can in his memory. "Probably," he says eventually. He doesn't often say things he doesn't mean.

Greg gives an irritable sigh. "About the full-on snog."

"Yes, of course."

"Oh, don't go all Assistant on me now," Greg says, plucking at the fabric of the cushions. "There are no cameras. I want to know the truth. You expected a full-on snog?"

"I did a bit," Alex says. "It seemed like a reasonable conclusion."

"And you'd have just let me?" 

"Let you?" Alex glances over his shoulder, and Greg isn't looking at him; he's looking up at the ceiling instead. It's a distancing tactic, one Alex is familiar with. "I'd planned on being an enthusiastic participant, actually."

"For the cameras," Greg says. His voice is — meditative, or wistful, or something, and that makes Alex turn all the way around.

"Not for the cameras," he tells him, sitting back on his heels. Greg remains perfectly still, perhaps even holding his breath. "For you."

Then Greg does move, propping himself on one elbow to look at Alex at last. "Alex, you're a married man," he says lightly, though the expression around his eyes isn't light at all.

"Rachel knows," Alex says. He's starting to feel a bit untethered. "She's known longer than I have."

"Known that you can run a bit into the ground?" 

"Known how I feel about you." Alex pauses, then adds, very deliberately, "Sir."

Greg jerks like he's been slapped, a flush rising from below his open collar. "Alex," he says. "You can't just say things like that."

"I think you'll find that I can," Alex says steadily.

A moment passes, during which Alex is fairly sure he has forgotten how to breathe; then Greg sits up, grasps a fistful of Alex's shirt, and yanks him forward. "You'd better be serious," Greg says, so near to Alex's face that their noses brush, that threatening Taskmaster intonation almost covering up the fact that his voice is trembling.

"As a heart atta—" Alex starts to say; the final consonant disappears into Greg's mouth, because the Taskmaster takes no prisoners when he kisses someone. Greg isn't rushing things, but drawing from that deep well of patience he pretends not to have, slowly and thoroughly taking Alex apart. It's all Alex can do to rise up on his knees, following where Greg pulls him by the shirt, and give as good as he gets.

"Fuck," Greg says, releasing Alex, red-faced and wild-eyed.

"Yes, sir. Where do you keep the lube?"

Greg stares at him, then starts to laugh. "In my nightstand," he says, sprawling back against the sofa as if it's his throne, "and be quick about it."

"Right away, sir!" Alex gets to his feet as gracefully as he can manage, hurrying into Greg's bedroom. When the door closes behind him, he gives himself a moment to grin unabashedly — finally, _finally!_ — and then fetches the lube and brings it back to Greg.

Greg, who has pulled his cock out of his slacks and is stroking it lazily; Greg, who is looking at Alex like — like Alex is some sort of decadent dessert he's been craving, rather than a fairly average-looking man he's known for years. He feels a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

He _loves_ it.

"Little Alex Horne," Greg says, his hand still moving on his cock. "I want to do so many things to you. Are you going to help me?"

"Yes, sir." He steps closer, almost without meaning to, like there are magnets involved. "How can I help, sir?"

"You're going to sit on my cock. Do whatever you like to get ready." He smirks, eyebrows arching. "You have one hundred seconds."

Alex fights not to grin. "Yes, sir." He drops his trousers and pants and steps out of the pile, then starts to kneel.

"No," Greg says. "Up here, on my lap."

Considering the mechanics involved takes Alex a moment — perhaps fifteen of his hundred seconds — and then he straddles Greg's thighs. He drizzles lube generously on Greg's cock, slightly less generously on his own fingers, and does a sketchy job of prepping his hole. "You might want to scoot forward," he suggests, quickly adding, "sir."

"Mmm." Instead, Greg tucks Alex into the crook of his elbow and turns sideways again, so he's got the full length of the sofa to work with. "Your hundred seconds are up, I believe."

Alex, if he's honest, lost count long ago. "I'm sure you're right," he says. "Shall I just —"

"Christ, come _here_ ," Greg growls, and Alex can't resist: he moves forward and sinks down on Greg's cock with a groan that's equal parts pleasure and relief. The stretch hurts just right, like Greg is splitting him open to see what he's made of. "There you are."

"Here I am," Alex says, looking down at Greg's smug, beloved face. "Do you have any — ah — notes for me?"

"Cheeky. Am I going to have to beat that out of you?" Greg's hands are heavy on Alex's hips, holding him in place.

"If you like." Alex shifts a little, pushing up against that implacable grip, and it feels so good that his eyelids fall closed, feeling all the way to his marrow that Greg _has_ him.

"No. Look at me," Greg says. Obediently, Alex opens his eyes; Greg is smiling at him. "That's right. I want you here for this."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be," Alex tells him. Greg reaches up to cup his face with one hand, and God, it feels almost as intimate as the fact that they're currently fucking bare. (Rachel's been asking and asking if they've got around to it yet; he's looking forward to finally being able to tell her _yes_.)

"Show me, then," Greg demands, landing a solid smack on Alex's left arse cheek. Startled, he gasps and clenches, and Greg thrusts up into him. Just like that, they've set a rhythm — just like they do on the show — and it's hardly any time at all before Alex is right on the edge of coming, even though neither of them has touched his cock.

"Sir, could I — would you mind if —"

"Really?" Greg looks intrigued. "Already? I'd like to see that. Can I touch you?"

"Please," Alex says helplessly. Greg's hardly wrapped one huge hand around his cock, let alone given it a full stroke, when Alex spills everywhere, biting down on his own fist to keep quiet.

Greg pulls his hand away from his mouth by the wrist. "Next time," he says, "you're going to be as loud as I tell you to be."

"Oh God," Alex says, shuddering happily. "Yes, sir."

"Now then, are you going to finish what you started?" Greg inquires, smiling devilishly. 

"Of course, sir." Alex braces himself on Greg's shoulders and gets to work, moving up and down on Greg's cock, which feels even more massive inside of him now that he's oversensitive from coming. It's better than he'd ever dreamed of; he hopes it's half as good for Greg.

"Ah —" Greg throws his head back when he comes, his hands clamping down on Alex's arse again. He breathes hard for a while, chest heaving, and Alex thinks he could watch him like this for at least a century or so. After a while, Greg lifts Alex off of his cock by the hips, setting him down closer to his knees, and sits up, pulling Alex's head down to press their foreheads together.

"Was that good for you, sir?" Alex asks softly.

Greg looks at him knowingly. "Yes, you were," he says.

Alex's cheeks hurt, he's smiling so hard, but he doesn't mind at all.


End file.
